


Music by Hand and Music by Heart

by Green



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green





	Music by Hand and Music by Heart

Often, either in hushed voices or in between the laughter of reminiscence, Rodney hears the others in Atlantis talk about what they left behind on Earth. What they missed, what they were glad to be away from. Family, cheeseburgers, telemarketers, that one ex who didn't know what _over_ really meant. Beloved pets, a favorite bistro. The lights and smells of a city or the silence and sweet-scent of the countryside.

Mosquitoes, hay-fever, Mom's ever increasing collection of Elvis commemorative plates. Church. Telephones. Google.

Rodney does his part and adds _espresso, egg rolls, Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition,_ and _Cadbury._ It seems the thing to do, if not for their sake, but for his own. Makes him feel as if he is one of them, even though he isn't and they know it, but this way is just easier. Pretending.

They all pretend.

What is true, what Rodney will not say, is that he has left nothing behind that Atlantis hasn't graciously given him back in full. He doesn't think anyone else, save Elizabeth and John, and maybe Carson, would truly understand.

On Earth, Rodney spent his days arguing with others on points that really were not, in retrospect, all that important. No one really understood what he was saying, anyway, and until he came to Atlantis, he thought no one ever would. It wasn't a question of intelligence, but the way his mind worked. There was something, always, that he could see in his mind, that he could _feel_, but he could never put into words. No amount of brow-beating could make others understand the reality of it. The shining of clarity, of crystalline _truth_ that he knew, _knew_, was part of some universal cohesiveness.

On Earth, he spent hours staring at equations that clicked into perfect harmony, while around him there was nothing but dissonance. Here, in Atlantis, the dissonance has faded to nothingness and the chorus rises up to thrum along his veins. Here, he is home, and even the air around him seems to understand. The colors and vibrancies, the soft hum he isn't quite sure he hears or just imagines, even the shining floor beneath his feet – all of seems to welcome him and his every thought. All of it melds together, like flesh over bone.

He tries to explain this to Radek one day, but he gets nothing but a frown and a nod. Rodney is sure this is only Radek humoring him, because even though the other man is brilliant and can do so much more than many others, there's something about his work that always seems slightly out of step. Like he's trying to follow the pattern of a dance, but he doesn't hear the music.

Rodney is convinced, for many months, that only he can hear the music. He is a part of Atlantis, but he is still apart from her new inhabitants. He doesn't mind much, because he _is_ a part of the city, and now, in many ways, she is a part of him. He doesn't think it has anything to do with the gene. He felt it even before he stepped through the gate, this open-spacious-universal _sensation_ that made his equations sing, that made his body hum. Felt it, just out of reach, his entire life. He remembers lying in his bed as a child, staring up at a mobile of the solar system, seeing the piecemeal patterns and blueprints of the universe even then.

He knows Atlantis has changed him, and not just on the inside. He has scars, now, and he is slightly more in tune with his body. On Earth, he knew when to eat, recognized when his blood sugar was low or his heart rate a little too fast. Now, he knows things like how long he can hold out until his body and mind _force_ him to eat, how long he can go without sleep without needing the stims Beckett is sometimes forced to give him. He knows how far he can run without getting a stitch in his side, and how much further he has to run for it to work itself out. Knows how far he can run with one arm wrapped around an injured teammate, and knows how far he can run when he is the one injured.

His limitations are no longer something that keeps him away from things he'd rather not be involved in, but something he has to learn to overcome, again and again, so that people do not die.

He has left many things behind on Earth, not the least of them his illusions. He thinks that maybe he is a better man for it, when he has the time to think of it at all.

He doesn't have that much time to reflect, however, because it seems that there is always something happening, always something going wrong. Perhaps it is because there are so many others working on Atlantis, fiddling with her systems, who do not hear the music either. Some of them do not even recognize that there is a dance at all.

At times there are things outside that try to creep in. Enemies, sicknesses. New personnel from Earth who do not hear the music, nor recognize the dance, nor even understand that Atlantis is the beginning, and not the end, of exploration. It irritates him that others are allowed within her walls. It is not jealousy, precisely, although that emotion simmers underneath his skin as well. It is more of a protectiveness, of guarding the city from those who do not feel what he feels. If Rodney were a religious man, he might liken it to sacrilege, of defilement. With each new wave of soldiers and scientists who arrive on the Daedalus, his skin pricks and his stomach clenches.

He notices a similar reaction in some of the others. In Elizabeth, although she smiles when she welcomes the new groups. In Ronon, who ignores them or just glares. In Teyla, who Rodney knows looks upon Atlantis as a gift from the Ancestors, and is probably as protective as he is.

And John. John, who only lets people in as far as he thinks is necessary, but who always seems to know everyone around him more than is comfortable. John leans back and watches the new waves of personnel beam into his city. His face is always impassive, but Rodney has seen, once of twice, his hand brush across a wall as if to say, _It's okay. I'm here,_ to the city they all call home.

Rodney has thought, in those moments, that maybe John can hear the music as well.

But, he waits, and doesn't ask. He wants to, but has no idea how to shape the words, how to expose something so personal and quiet to the ruthlessness of open air. Instead, he jokes and complains, and lets himself settle into something like a friendship with John. Only, it is more than friendship, at least on Rodney's part, because John is something else, something that does not fit into the same old slots as Radek and Carson or even old friends from Earth he remembers fondly. And, just as slowly as Rodney, as if he's just as unfamiliar with the circumstance, he lets Rodney close. Or at least as close as John Sheppard seems possible of allowing.

In the end, it isn't Rodney who asks, but John. They are standing on a balcony, and the city is as quiet as she can be. Waves lap against her, a dance of their own. John and Rodney are staring out across the ocean, into the horizon filled with stars.

"Can you hear it?" John whispers. Rodney isn't quite sure John's said it at first, thinks maybe his own thoughts have crowded his mind to the point of hallucination. But then John turns to him, and his eyes are questioning, and hesitant.

And Rodney remembers to breathe, and puts his hands on John's shoulders. Leans in, as he does with Teyla sometimes, and touches his forehead to John's.

"Yes," Rodney says simply, and finally, finally, they share the music.

end

_ Music by hand or music by heart  
Music by hand and music by heart  
Create, birth, conceive, creativity innate  
Pushing, pulling, moving, lifting, down  
Power strength in sound_

~ Margareet Valentine


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